When my children were small — ages six, four, and two — my mornings were nothing short of a circus. My Gaggia espresso machine was my secret co-conspirator, my silent hero, my lifeline. Before I could even face the chaos of play dough on the dining table, toy cars underfoot, or stuffed animals scattered like confetti, I had to press that first button.
I still remember the ritual: steaming milk, grinding beans, and the aroma filling the kitchen — a moment of sanity before the inevitable barrage of questions, arguments, and hugs. By the time I sat down with my cup, now almost cold, I could finally take a breath and step into the beautiful madness.
Every picture from those years tells the story: my espresso cup in frame, a little cold but ever-present, surrounded by small hands, sticky fingers, and colorful chaos. That little machine was more than a coffee maker — it was my companion, my partner-in-parenting, my daily anchor. Through the sleepless nights and busy mornings, my Gaggia espresso machine and I survived — and sometimes even thrived — alongside the whirlwind of my three little humans.